Hemming lowered the twig, twirling it around his fingers, and put his other hand on his hip. His eyes, leaving the bright sky, took a moment to adjust to the relative dimness of the clearing. "Ah, 'tis not a good name, but 'tis a name — Hemming. Thrilled to make your acquaintance, Lady Asha, and yours, kind sir." He bowed twice more, once to the wolf and then to the horse, as he spoke. Sir Aiden had more royal bones in his body than did the male wolf, and it wasn't just due to anatomical differences. He would get his right respect, as well, and Hemming would expect it to be repaid when he had his own kingdom, and a castle with a moat. With crocodiles. Crocodiles were a must.
"Perilous tasks, indeed! Quests to faraway lands, journeys through the fire and brimstone of treacherous territory, frays with creatures that looked as if they came themselves from the very depths of hell!" Wandering through the forests of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, watching his bag slip into the Atlantic and knowing he was too poor a swimmer to stand a chance of retrieving it, and being harassed by a hawk that thought he was getting too close to its nest — check, check, and check. He stood boldly despite his failings, chest still pressed out and chin tilted up. The world of make-believe was so much kinder.
Hemming noticed that she held a much sturdier-looking stick than did he, and tried not to watch as she spun it, keeping his gaze on her face instead. Aspiring royalty must not be intimidated or distracted! He was too into his little play to wonder what exactly was unfolding, or to worry about the pathetic stick in his hands, or to anticipate the fun that the two of them might have. The male had an aptitude for tasks that required a lot of attention to detail, but his strength and agility was quite lacking. If one could receive a kingship for building things and reading books, he would already have it. But, alas, life was not so. |